


Five

by OneLastMiracle



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Death, aftermath of final crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6388873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLastMiracle/pseuds/OneLastMiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Death is normal. Dying is natural. Everyone dies, Tim.” Jason's eyes slid away from him. “ Most people don’t come back, despite our experiences.”</p><p>Tim’s shoulders slackened the barest amount. “What world do we live in where death is normal?” </p><p>“It’s part of the job. We all do it at one point or another.” Jason felt something catch in his throat, the slightest shift in his voice. “ I died when I was fifteen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five

Five. It was an important number for many reasons; the first Wilson prime, a Fermat prime, both a Pell and a Markov number, as well as an untouchable number. Five Pillars of Islam, Five Wounds of Christ, Five Books in the Torah. Five funerals for five superheros. 

First it had been Barry- a death which no one quite understood nor expected. His funeral had been held in stunned silence filled with genuine disbelief. 

Next was Superboy. Tim’s closest friend and ally, a member of his Teen Titans. It was harder than his parents’ funeral had been- he was meant to be immortal and even he met his end.

Then the League buried Martian Manhunter- or rather, they held the memorial whilst he was given a hero’s tribute on his home planet. The ceremony was one of the nicest he’d been to, even with the underlying vein of anger running amongst the vigilantes.

Fourth had been Booster Gold. A blur of a funeral for one of the first and last genuinely good people in the community.

Today was the fifth one. Today, he stood surrounded by his brothers, his team, the League; every superhero had tried to be in attendance. It wasn’t every day that their field buried one of their founding members. 

Five Robins as well, Tim noted flatly, feeling his siblings at his shoulders. Even Jason had come. As much as the man avoided funerals and his standing relationship with 95% of the people attending, it wasn’t everyday that Bruce Wayne died. 

Bruce Wayne died. Batman was dead. It felt like heresy to think- and an ultimate injustice to the name to pronounce him so.

Tim had buried his parents once already- a day he felt couldn’t be trumped as worst day of his life. Life had laughed at his assumption, tearing his scarred heart from his still rising chest and twisting. This was the cost of bonds, of family. He had assumed that, despite all previous tragedy, this family would be okay. Bruce had been playing vigilante for more than thirty years, Dick had more scar tissue covering his skin than not, and even Damian was a trained assassin at age eleven. Jason had come back from the dead for fuck sake. And that wasn’t even mentioning the terrifying fortitude of the Bat girls- honestly Babs scared Tim. He’d placed trust in their ability. Trust they wouldn’t die- and here he was at the funeral for the most impervious man he knew.

He felt betrayed almost, as if some unspoken pact was broken. From day one, that had been his job as Robin: Follow my orders, and do not die. And he hadn’t; using Jason as a guide what not to do, and Dick where to follow, Tim had assumed Bruce would hold up his end. The one time Batman didn’t follow through on a promise- never-mind that it was understood- and he’d ended six damn feet under. 

It was a nice ceremony; all that fortune going to use. No one said much. Bruce would have appreciated the silence. 

Tim retreated to the cave, unable to deal with all the capes and Gothamites come to mourn their peer. Their condolences did nothing and he didn’t wish to hear it; especially from those who could have stopped it. He had no interest in speaking to the League.  
We understand Tim.  
I’m so sorry Red Robin.  
If you need anything- 

He needed his mentor back. But not even Zatana nor Doctor Fate could pull that out of a hat.

It wasn’t possible. The man had contingencies for his contingencies. There were Plan W’s and Formation Omegas. Bruce would not let himself be stopped by something so contrived as mortal death. Batman was above it. He thought through every action before taking it, how could he have not planned for this eventuality?

He remembered someone calling his name, probably Alfred or Dick. Looking for him in his absence at the wake. He didn’t bother responding, focusing on the calculations in front of him. There must have been another answer, another way. There’s no way Batman executed a plan without having a way out, what master strategist wouldn’t include an escape route?

Possible alternatives and recourse occupied him, running the numbers, simulations, possibilities, scenarios through his head and the computer occupied Tim. A pocket dimension, alternate timeline, teleportation, transmutation. There was logically a way out. Bruce was just waiting for him to find it. Waiting to find it and bring him home. 

“Good to see I’m not the only bird to fly the coup.” Jason mused to Tim from the upper railings of the cave. Neither were much considered people persons. Raised in his own self image, Bruce did.

Tim made no recognition of his older brother, typing madly. Jason sat back on his heels, considering. This wasn’t the first time the Replacement had lost someone dear to him, and not even recently; Red Hood had heard the clone of Supes was another casualty. But this was a different grieving process. Or rather, total denial of it. Jason set his jaw. After experiencing first hand the denial of death, he knew it would never end well.

Soft footfalls besides the computer might have alerted Tim to the others presence, should he bother to look. Jason waited a moment or two, just to see if he would garner any recognition. Tim tapped on.

Jason sighed. “You know, it’s normal.”

“Shut up.”

The older inched closer, glancing at the screen. Quick has he was, Jason couldn’t keep up with what was happening in all the windows. Impressive, if not terrifying. Although, not quite on part with Babs. “I’m just saying, it happens.”

Tim’s brow was furrowed, never looking away from the screen. “Dying isn’t normal. Not for him.” 

Jason shrugged. “Death is normal. Dying is natural. Everyone dies, Tim.” The elder’s eyes slid away from him. “ Most people don’t come back, despite our experiences.”

Tim’s shoulders slackened the barest amount- exhaustion or defeat? “What world do we live in where death is normal?” 

“It’s part of the job. We all do it at one point or another.” Jason felt something catch in his throat, the slightest shift in his voice. “ I died when I was fifteen.” 

“That’s not the same. You-”

Jason interrupted, voice dissonant. “-deserved it?”

Tim’s eyes flicked over to his predecessor, who leaned against the desk, looking towards the door. His voice was a hint softer when he answered. “You were a kid.” Focusing back on the screen, “He’s the World’s Greatest Detective. There’s no way he-”

“He was mortal.” Jason shrugged. “We forgot it. B had been shot and stabbed and hurt so many times, we thought he worked best when injured. Nothing kept him down.”

Soft steps on the stairs alerted them to their other brothers’ arrival into the cave. Dick looked far older than either had remembered him being, and an eleven year old had no right to look as forlorn as Damian did. Neither suited their sombre expressions.

The youngest removed his coat and tie and rolled his sleeves before looking to the weapons bench to find familiarity. Dick leaned against the railing, framed in the black of the cave behind him. Silence followed the dull thumps of Damian’s sparring and poignant tapping of the keys. 

“Does it seem real to you?” Dick broke the quiet without looking towards anyone. “Because...” His expression changed to something troubled. “It doesn’t feel like it. I know this isn’t fear toxin, or mind control. I know cognitively that he’s... not here.” Dick swallowed. “But it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t feel empty like I should. The manor doesn’t feel different. The cave is the same. It’s all the same, like he could stalk in right now and tell us to suit up. But he’s gone.”

The typing stopped and the padded hits also lessened.  
“And we’re here.” Jason sounded sharp, as if he blamed Bruce for leaving them behind. 

Staring at the screens as if they held the key to the universe (maybe they did), Tim spoke up, ignoring Jason. “Maybe he’s not though.”

Three pairs of eyes looked to Red Robin, intent in their own ways. Damian moved towards the two at the screens. “What do you mean, Drake? We just buried him.”

“We buried Jason.” Tim responded, finally turning to the others.

Red Hood scoffed. “I was reanimated by you friend shattering reality. Which, I hate to break it to you, but he’s a little indisposed to do to the same again.” He could feel the daggers from Dick, mentioning Superboy’s death.

“But Doctor Mid-Nite came back. And Hawkwoman. We even thought Superman has died before.” There was a dangerous spark of hope Jason heard in his voice. One that best be blown out lest it start a conflagration among the grieving. 

But Dick harbored hope in the face of impossibility, his one superpower. “He could come back. He’s come back from worse.” 

The second eldest’s face hardened. “No, he can’t, Dick.” Jason sounded strained yet firm. “Bruce is dead.”

Tim met the almost pleading eyes of his oldest brother and had to look away. “Bane broke his back and he was back at the mantle in less than six months. So it is possible-”

Damian responded by sticking his chin out, as if offended anyone would suggest his father was not immortal. Poor kid was back at it again, with his projected image. “Father has been shot multiple times- and fatally as well.” Eyes slid to Jason who ducked the glances. “I have every faith in him.”

Ever the Judas, Jason shook his head. He wanted to believe it, but their work made him skeptic. Why were the others getting their hopes up? They’re just going to be crushed again when he doesn’t. And Jason stopped letting his hopes get crushed by Batman long ago. “Maybe.” He allowed, “But what are we going to do about it in the meantime? Gotham needs Batman.”

A minute passed of silence, besides the whirring of the computer and the drip of the stalactites. A pregnant silence if there ever was one, the moment weighted heavily as each considered the available options. 

“Not necessarily, Todd. We have four vigilantes in the room right now to care for the city, I doubt-”

Tim shook his head, “No, he’s right. Gotham does need a Batman.” 

Jason asked the unspoken question left in the air: “So who’s gonna do it?”

A beat passed. And another. The air in the cavern seemed thick and tension palatable. 

“I will.” All eyes looked to Dick, who stared at the computer unwavering. “It’s my responsibility.”

Jason seemed affronted. “Look, goldie, I know you’ve been doing this the longest, but you don’t really fit into B’s shadow. You’re not Batman.”

“You’ve killed fifty people in the last two months and a solid three fourths of the caped community refuses to work with you. Damian is a child, a trained assassin and damn good hero, I grant you, but he’s not ready to be a leader. Tim would be the logical choice, but his self destructive tendencies and emotional instability would drive him mad with the job. I’m the only one who can do it.” From any other person, this would have sounded self-laudatory and malicious. But from Dick Grayson, it was a harsh truth that he bore no joy in recognizing. It was simply fact. 

Tim and Jason argued no further, both conceding quietly; after all, they had known since before their first flight that Bruce would be survived by Dick in every manner. But the youngest had no such conditioning as those before him. “Grayson, this is what I was made for. This exact reason.” Damian’s words were blades. “This is my birthright.”

Dick shifted his hard gaze to the youngest bird. “Your birthright is with the al ‘Ghul League of Assassins. This isn’t about lineage or blood or pedigree. This is about logic and rationale and tact, which you might be master of in a decade. But right now, you’re a child, you cannot possibly be a ruthless detective vigilante. I know you didn’t have a childhood, none of us here did, but I will not allow the mantel of Batman to ruin what humanity you still have left to grow.”

Damian, despite all his training, actually shrunk away. Despite the change in demeanor, he did maintain harsh eyecontact, to his credit. 

In the company of all who flew beside the legend, they picked a successor of the mantel. A bird for a bat. Because, afterall, Gotham needs a Batman.

 

Tim stood alone in the Wayne Manor cemetery. Everyone had long since left, but he couldn’t face returning to the empty hallways. Bruce was buried next to his mother and father with a sizeable headstone, engraved with his name, and below that in bold lettering: BELOVED FATHER AND HERO. Simple, fitting. Tim supposed Bruce would admire their concision. 

And at the foot of headstone, were the dates. He shouldn’t be surprised at how long Bruce had managed to survive as Batman- more than twenty years in the cape. The gap between almost distracted him from the second date, the Fifth of May. 

Tim hated the number five.

**Author's Note:**

> RIGHT. 
> 
> So, I couldn't actually come up with four other people that died during Final Crisis. Also I read it a while ago, so don't bitch over the details.  
> Also important to note, the series isn't a continuous universe, its a collection of one-shots that might reference one another, but they aren't strictly speaking in the same universe.
> 
> Also, that was the first time I've ever had to research a number for a fic.... which is weird.


End file.
